Maddening Shroud
by ReadingWhiz89
Summary: [Mangaverse] That was why this one death weighed so heavily upon him. The face was known, etched in painful detail in his mind, and had two sides—past and past present. And he wanted them back. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: Ya'll should know by now that I am Yasuhiro Nightow's leech. I own nothing.

A/N: So yeah…I'm back with another Livio fic. (Yes! I am a Livio junkie!) This is undoubtedly the longest one-shot I have ever written. It's been in the works since December 2006 so I'm hoping it turned out OK.

Warnings: Spoilers through Trigun Maximum Volume 11, strong language, drinking, angst (lots and lots of angst), and some thoughts on suicide.

Credits: Spicy-obsession (beta) and Frou Frou's "Maddening Shroud" (fic title).

* * *

_"Oh, I've got a good mind to throw it all away…  
After all, what is it worth?"  
_"Maddening Shroud" by Frou Frou

_**Maddening Shroud**_

Snippety, snip-snip.

_All done._

Livio stared at the face reflecting back at him in the mirror, the now familiar sensation of déjà vu overtaking him. It had been years since he had bothered to look at himself, to _really_ look. Back then, he had lost himself completely to the rigid dogma of the Eye of Michael after his body had been altered irrevocably.

_No_, he corrected himself silently. _I didn't "lose" myself. I surrendered._

He set the pair of scissors on the counter, the fingers of his other hand absently running through his newly cut hair. It was neat and tidy, as opposed to the formerly untamed mane he had once possessed. It was so strange to him, not to mention a little ironic. Everything he had known while an indoctrinated assassin had been immutable truth, while his external appearance had been almost…feral. Now, though, when everything about him seemed orderly, he was more conflicted than he had ever been.

Livio sighed, feeling somewhat melancholy despite the encouragement Brad had tried to give him not too long before. Or were they merely suggestions? He didn't really know. Nothing was clear-cut anymore, nor did the world consist of merely blacks and whites. No, there were shades of color in between, something he had forgotten during his long years of service. And now they confused him.

Livio knew that he had changed. He wasn't a brainwashed cultist anymore. He was free from that…but not the baggage that came with it. His past would always have some influence over his present and future. It was inescapable, just as the tattooed lines sketched around his eye could never be removed. He was marked, and always would be.

He shook his head, and pushed away from the sink, pulling the cloak around himself. The door to the men's room swung closed behind him as he walked away, the Doublefangs a comforting presence weighing against his hips. However, even his weapons could not dispel the belief that it just wasn't possible to forget, to act like nothing had happened.

Livio looked away from the people he passed in the hallways, his eyes drawn to the scuff of shoes. He couldn't bear to meet their collective gaze. Vash the Stampede had been kind, kinder than he should have been considering…everything. And much like the Plant who had allowed him to come here, the people he had met since arriving were the same. It made Livio feel distinctly uncomfortable because he didn't believe he fit in here, not after…

_Please…_ he thought forcefully, _I've held off on thinking about it this long. _He took a deep breath, the air dense in his lungs as a pressure originating in the decency of those around him lay heavily on his shoulders—suffocating him. He was drowning.

Livio ducked out of the building, practically fleeing the vicinity as he moved quickly away…and inhaled. It wasn't dark yet, the suns still loitering the fringes of the horizon, the sky painted an eerie crimson hue. A chill crept up his spine, and Livio had the strangest feeling that blood had been spilled that day. Today was no different from any other day on Gunsmoke, but it had never struck him so strongly before.

Shaking off his discomfort, Livio slipped past the guards around the command center and vaulted over the wall, landing easily in a crouching position. A few passing civilians saw him, eyes wide and staring as he straightened. Managing a sheepish smile, Livio waved tentatively at them.

"Um…hi! I just…uh…decided to drop in! Ahahaha…"

They didn't seem to be buying it. Realizing this situation could become even more awkward than it already was, Livio turned, and had to force himself not to run. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but somehow he didn't think he needed to know. Moving, he felt, was all that was required.

So he did, weaving between the dusty buildings and even dustier people. There was dirt, there was filth, there was grime—refuse everywhere. Shoulders slumped, the elderly stooped more than seemed natural, the young were subdued, and there was a rankness of spirit that seemed to ooze from their pores. The atmosphere was close, the air—palpable tension about to break—still as death.

_They know,_ he realized, his steps driven by some autopilot separate from his thoughts. Livio had not walked amongst the common man like this since he had been a child, and his memories of those days were already hazy at best. But the training, the visceral ingraining of dogma, the manipulation of the mind and body to achieve the perfection sought after by the Eye of Michael—they had taken something from him that could never be returned. He had been warped, and though Livio was now free of that, he would always be what he had been made.

In a way, Livio envied these people. Yes, he had the ability to fight, not to mention skills most would die for. Fortified bones, enhanced musculature, sharpened sensory nerves, regeneration—all of these were at his disposal. But the price he had paid…was it worth it now?

He had no answer.

His thoughts continued to degenerate, distracting him from the present business of walking. As such, he barely noticed when a puppy suddenly ran out in front of him. Startled, Livio tried to avoid the mutt, but somehow managed to trip over his own feet instead…and fell quite unceremoniously on his ass.

"Ow!"

Livio scowled. _Why do these things always happen to **me**?_ he groused, eyeing the furry mongrel who had caused this little debacle. The puppy, however, simply panted, its tongue lolling—a stupidly happy expression. Then, without warning, it leapt into Livio's lap and started attacking his face with wet, slobbering kisses.

"ACK! Stop it, you little—!" Livio yelped, trying to get the fuzzball to quit, but it just _wouldn't_.

"Sammy!"

The puppy paused briefly, its tail wagging and ears pricking as it recognized the voice's owner—a small boy with unruly black hair. Livio stared up at him, flat on his back now from the assault, and felt something constrict in his stomach. Oblivious, the child quickly scooped the puppy into his arms.

"Gotcha!"

The small dog barked, licking the child's face now, and Livio wondered if its tail could fall off from over-wagging, because it sure looked like Sammy's might.

"DAK!"

Another man came running up (_the kid's father_, Livio guessed as he pushed himself into a sitting position), and he looked none too pleased. He opened his mouth, clearly intending to berate his son, but the boy beat him to the punch.

"Dad, look! This guy," he pointed at Livio, "found Sammy!"

_That wasn't really what happened…_ Livio thought, and tired to clarify. "Actually—"

"Dak, I told you not to run off," his father said sternly, a hint of barely suppressed anger creeping into his voice. "It's dangerous."

"But—"

He silenced the boy with a look. "Later, Dak."

Livio watched, seeing the emotions play across the child's face. _He can't be more than six years old,_ Livio realized, feeling an inexplicable pang in his chest. For someone this young to live through times like these…it wasn't right.

"Sorry about that."

Livio blinked, a little taken aback by the tightness of the other man's tone, but he just nodded, brushing himself off as he stood. He really didn't mind. _Except for the drool,_ he amended silently.

"No, it's fine," he said, looking at the puppy in Dak's arms, and then at the boy himself. "I guess that little guy's pretty important to you, huh?"

Dak brightened some at that. "Yeah! Mom gave him to me!"

Livio nodded, and smiled a little. "That was nice of her. Where is she now?"

He immediately regretted asking, because the boy's face fell significantly, completely deflated as the father placed his hands on the child's shoulders, about to guide him away. The man paused, meeting Livio's gaze momentarily, and Livio flinched internally under the weight of that stare.

"She's in Carcasses."

* * *

_She's in Carcasses._

"Want another?"

Nod.

_She's in Carcasses._

Thunk.

"There ya go."

_She's in Carcasses._

Clunk.

"Done already?"

_She's in Carcasses._

"Want another?"

Blink.

No comment.

Over and over again. No questions asked. Just the same cycle he wanted to break by drowning himself in a different sort of monotony. But the words wouldn't go away. Even after the man had gone, his posture just as broken as everyone else's he had seen today, the blasted look in his eyes had remained, clinging to him like a fungus. Worse than that, though, was how closely the boy's bearing had echoed his father's. No more than a child, and he was already fraying at the edges—a familiar phenomenon, this time with a face he had known and was trying to forget. And Livio knew why.

_Because his mother's in Carcasses,_ he thought dully, staring at the newly filled mug as the bartender set it down. _Because she's dead, and the whole goddamn world is ending._

He glared at the glass for a moment, before picking it up and taking a long draught. A sudden gust of smoke washed over him, then, making his eyes water, and he almost choked. Pounding his chest and coughing, Livio waited for the fit to pass, hating both the reek of tar and nicotine, as well as his lack of tolerance, but loathing his constitution even more. How many drinks had he _had_, anyway? He couldn't even remember, but the fact that he wasn't stone-cold drunk annoyed him. That was the whole point of this goddamn exercise.

_Stupid fucking enhancements_, he grated. _Can't even get drunk properly._

No one else seemed to be having the same problem, he noticed irritably. Whether at the bar itself or a table or booth, bottles and empty glasses littered their respective surfaces. Waitresses mopped up the frequent messes, either accepting or turning down slurred requests for their numbers and even more blatant offers. The air was dense with cigarette smoke, but less so at the bar. Hardcore drinkers lined the stools while chain-smokers kicked back in chairs, the moderates scattered about; it was an unspoken rule.

The glass was empty again. Raising his hand, Livio waited for the barkeep to come over for the umpteenth time. The faster he got another drink, the longer he'd be able to toe the line separating sobriety and blitzville—floating in the haze of ether between both, yet fitting completely with neither. It was the most he could expect from this cursed body of his.

"Another?" the bartender asked, an eyebrow lifting when Livio nodded. "Well, then, you'll have to pay for the ones you've had already. We've got a tab limit here, and you're about to go over."

_You've gotta be kidding me_, he thought, and rubbed his eyes._ The world's about to end, and he wants money? Which I don't have. Shit._

The bartender was looking at him suspiciously now, probably assuming (and rightly so) that Livio didn't have any cash on him. Livio almost felt like apologizing, but then figured he'd be paying in a different way, judging by the other man's expression. The guy was pissed.

"If you'll come with me, _sir—_"

A gloved hand slamming on the wood next to the glass interrupted him, and Livio jumped, startled as he pushed back from the bar. He watched as the hand withdrew, a wad of double dollars left in its wake. Turning, and looking up, Livio found himself staring at the last person he'd ever expected to see in a place like this.

Vash smiled cheerfully. "Is this enough to cover it?"

The bartender said nothing, merely nodded curtly as he snatched up the bills and walked away, counting them as he went. Livio stared after him for a moment before his attention reverted back to the one who had just saved his ass from washing dirty dishes for the rest of the night. Vash just seemed so…out of place.

_It's that happy-go-lucky grin of his. Everyone else is just waiting for the end…including me too, I guess. But…he isn't._

"Mind if I sit?"

Livio blinked, his thoughts interrupted by Vash's query. "Oh. No. Go ahead."

Still smiling, Vash plopped on a stool next to Livio, and then promptly started banging his fist on the bar. "YO, BARKEEP!"

"What the hell are you doing!?" Livio whispered frantically.

"Getting us some drinks," Vash answered, still jovial as he resumed shouting. "HEY! BAR—"

Livio clamped a hand over Vash's mouth, trying to smother the noise with limited success. "Are you trying to get us kicked out or something!? Geez!"

"Ahem."

Livio looked up, red from embarrassment as the bartender looked at them, his patience obviously wearing thin. Vash said something, but all Livio could make out was: "Hi wanft a drinf." The outlaw sounded almost petulant, but Livio didn't care about that.

"You gonna behave?" Livio asked, eyeing Vash warily.

The Plant appeared to think about it, his brow creasing. Finally, he bobbed his head. "Yeth."

Livio released him, and wiped his hand (_oh gross, he drooled on me!_) on his pants. Hoping the guy would indeed stop with all the yelling, Livio suddenly remembered he'd been about to order a drink when Vash had come in. And he was still broke. _Shit._

"What'll ya have?"

"Two bourbon straights would be great. I'm paying."

Livio swiveled about, surprised despite himself. "You don't have to—"

Vash ignored him. "C'mon, where's it at, barkeep?" He clapped his hands. "Chop, chop!"

The bartender glared witheringly at the Humanoid Typhoon before stalking away to get the drinks. Vash certainly wasn't endearing himself to the establishment, Livio noted. However, there were other, more pressing questions nagging at him now, the most prominent being why the hell Vash was in a bar—_this_ bar. Wasn't he supposed to be preparing for the final battle with Knives or something?

He was about to ask that very thing, in fact, when the bartender returned with two bourbon glasses. Livio wasn't sure what to expect since he had never tried bourbon. He'd just come in to get the cheapest shit the place had and get smashed on that. Too bad it hadn't worked out so well. He felt completely sober at the moment.

The bartender set the drinks down, his mouth thinning. "Here."

"Thanks, barkeep!" Vash chirped, and then took the first draught of the hard liquor…and coughed. "Good stuff!" he managed, bright eyes tearing, but approving, as they turned to Livio. "Try some!"

Livio hesitated, more than a little confused, before picking up the glass. "OK."

Tentatively, he sipped at it. The liquid was warm, smooth…tasted good. But then came the swallowing part, and Livio started coughing too. The stuff _burned_, dammit. Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Livio hoped drinking this stuff would get easier. Honestly, his lack of tolerance was downright embarrassing. The fact that Vash seemed to be having the same problem made him feel somewhat better, though.

"Good, innit?"

"Hah," Livio rasped, "yeah. Good."

It took another half a minute before Livio felt up to talking again, but while he recovered, he glanced at Vash out of the corner of his eye. He was drinking, albeit rather slowly, the stupid grin still plastered on his face. And Livio wondered again why he was here. So he asked.

"Why are you here?"

"Same as you," Vash said, the reply practically instantaneous, and no less chipper than before.

"Huh?"

Vash pointed innocently at the bourbon. "I wanted a drink."

"But…" Livio shook his head, not believing that for a second. "No, really. Tell me why."

"I did tell you."

"No, you didn't."

Vash tilted his head to the side. "How did I not tell you?"

"Well…all you said was that you wanted a drink—"

"Exactly."

"Huh?"

"See? I told you already."

Livio was getting annoyed now. "You're avoiding the subject!"

"I am not," Vash huffed, the picture of indignation.

"Yes, you are!"

"I gave you a reason!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too, too, too!"

"Did not, not, not!"

"Did too times a million!"

"Did not times _infinity_! HAH! TOP THAT!"

Both of them shut up, the silliness of their exchange forgotten as silence reigned once more. Neither looked at the other, and for some reason, Livio felt as though he'd crossed some sort of line. Vash wasn't smiling anymore, his brow furrowed with lines that belied his youthful features. He was old, but it was easy to forget that sometimes.

Livio chewed the inside of his cheek, the now-familiar guilt wrenching his insides despite his best attempts to numb it. He shouldn't have questioned like that. Especially not after what he'd done.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"It's OK."

Short and not-so-sweet.

_How does he brush things off like that?_

It was downright disconcerting when Vash did that. Livio didn't necessarily think it was a bad thing for the guy to do, but it made him that much harder to understand. Not that it was necessary to understand Vash as a whole (_I think my brain would explode if I tried_), but Livio was thinking of one thing in particular that he _did_ wish he could comprehend. Just one thing…but he was afraid to ask.

Everything still felt too close…too raw to be brought up in a place like this, although this kind of setting was arguably perfect for unsavory Q&A sessions. Vash hadn't answered his first question, and that one had seemed innocent enough. So why on Gunsmoke would he answer the question that had been gnawing at him since they had left the orphanage?

"What's the matter?"

He had been staring at the liquid slosh gently in his glass, completely oblivious until Vash had interrupted his ruminations. Dragging his gaze away from the strange glimmer of reflected light that had taken refuge in his glass, Livio looked at Vash, nonplussed.

"Huh?"

The corners of Vash's eyes crinkled, and he indicated the bourbon. "You've barely touched it."

"Oh. Yeah."

Absently, the action more of a show than anything else, Livio sipped at the drink slowly, not wanting to have a second coughing fit. It was getting easier and easier—a repetitive cycle. He had never drunk alcohol before leaving the Eye of Michael. While not expressly forbidden, it had been discouraged. After all, service to Him was the only thing that any acolyte would ever need.

A shadow briefly flitted across his face, darkening his eyes. _They lied._

"Something on your mind?"

Livio smiled tightly, not bothering to pretend. "Yeah. I guess you could say that."

"Well," Vash scratched his chin thoughtfully, "it's always best to get those kinda things out in the open, ya know?"

"Er…no, not really…"

In his experience, sharing doubts was a painful experience. Quite literally. He had some of the scars to prove it.

"Everyone has to start somewhere."

Not insistent. Not careless. The sentence simply lingered in the air between them—an invitation.

_Food cooking. Smells good. Get up. Step, step, step, shoe scuffs. Door opens. Just one?_

After about ten minutes, Livio accepted it.

_Run in. Not there. Run out. Look, look, look, find him. Not here. Where, then?_

"Back then…"

_Back in again. Ask him. Ask now. Gone, gone, gone, he's missing. Vanished. Why?_

He took a deep breath.

"_He's dead. I buried him."_

He bent over the counter, his posture wounded, his face dipped in shadow, not looking at him.

_Can't be. Just…no. Don't accept. Stutter, stutter, stutter, fumbling words. He's eating. How?_

"…you never did answer my question."

"_Why are you so…calm about everything?"_

He couldn't move past it.

Livio had done a number of things in his life that he wasn't proud of. He had thrown away all sense of personal responsibility, conscience, and feeling in order to better carry out the will of the Eye of Michael. He had murdered in cold blood. It didn't matter whether the victims had been high-ranking, corrupt officials, women, Plant engineers guilty of abusing their charges, children, traitors and defectors, innocents caught in the crossfire—all were the same in eyes of an assassin: fragile sparks of life that were easily smothered.

And worst of all, they were a myriad of faceless apparitions that haunted and plagued him, not only because they were dead, but also because he could not remember them. Their lives _had_ been important, and they deserved individual recognition from him. But he knew nothing about them. He had forgotten.

That was why this one death weighed so heavily upon him. The face was known, etched in painful detail in his mind, and had two sides—past and past present. And he wanted them back.

_I'm sorry…_

His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. The stupid nickname he had been christened all those years ago still applied. _Goddammit, why can't I fucking grow up?_

White cloth flutter briefly in front of his face, and Livio stared stupidly at the handkerchief for a moment, reddened eyes meeting clear ones. A somber smile touched Vash's lips, an expression that spoke of loss over the course of several human lifetimes. And understanding.

"Take it."

It took him a full minute, but Livio finally did, wiping roughly at it his eyes, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Real men didn't cry like this. He was being stupid, and his fist curled around the damp material.

"You asked me why."

It was a statement of fact, and Livio could only nod mutely in response, watching Vash as he finally managed to stem the flow of tears. A single finger tracing the rim of his glass, Vash didn't continue immediately, his eyes far away. He seemed to be thinking about something, but Livio had no way of knowing what that thing was. At last, the Plant spoke.

"The answer's there."

Livio was confused. "What?"

Vash said nothing, merely pointed at the handkerchief crumpled in a haphazard ball on Livio's palm. Puzzled, Livio smoothed it out, seeing the wrinkles. He still didn't get it. Gently, Vash reached over and took it from him, his voice solemn as he explained.

"These tears."

"I don't…understand."

Vash's voice was little more than a whisper, yet somehow perfectly clear. "A tear is the purest expression that humanity has. People cry when they're sad, when they're happy, when they laugh…it's what makes you human…" he trailed off, his eyes far away.

_What is he saying?_ Livio wondered. _That I'm…human? What else would I be? And how does saying I'm human change anything?_

"I don't—"

"It hurts." A beat. "Doesn't it?"

At those words, his stomach knotted uncomfortably, a crippling pain lodged in his abdomen that wouldn't go away. He hadn't noticed it until now. But it was there. And it hurt.

"Yeah…" Livio swallowed hard. "It does." His eyes were burning. "Does it…does it ever go away?"

Vash shook his head.

Livio laughed weakly, then, his fingers curling tightly around the bourbon glass. "Then what the fuck is the point of this…_any_ of it? If it's always going to fucking hurt…why?"

_Why continue? Why struggle? Why fight, and fight, and fight, when blood is all there is to be had? Isn't it easier…to just throw it all away?_

"Because…"

The low volume couldn't mute the intensity of Vash's words. Reluctantly, Livio looked up, taken aback by quiet intensity of that gaze.

"The pain has its own purpose. It tells you that you're still alive, that you have to try that much harder, that you haven't become something empty. And most importantly…" Vash said, his tone insistent and poignant, "it tells you that you still have _hope_."

Livio barely noticed the cracks veining the glass as his grip tightened. "Hope? What 'hope'?" Liquid leaked between his fingers, sharp, displaced edges cutting his palm. "I can't…" his voice broke, "I can't be…"

"Forgiven?" Vash finished softly.

Livio didn't answer.

"Do you want forgiveness?"

_I do I do I want it so much but goddammit I—_

"No."

"Why not?"

Livio's breath hitched in his throat, catching there. "I don't deserve it."

"Livio—"

"_I fucking killed your best friend, Vash!_"

The words streaked from his mouth before he could stop them, a whispered shriek only barely audible over the smattered conversations of the other patrons. Shards skittered away across the counter, his undamaged hand twisting violently in his newly cropped hair—tugging, yanking, pulling. He wouldn't look at Vash. He refused to.

Livio didn't know how long they sat there in silence, neither looking at nor speaking to the other. However, he did know when Vash spoke, his voice calm, but heavy with a weariness that ran deeper than what was immediately apparent.

"Forgiveness isn't something anyone ever deserves. It's something given freely, with no strings attached." Sad eyes turned to Livio. "Do you understand?"

"No…" came the rasping reply. "I don't."

Silence.

"Neither do I."

The words were numbing, and mere moments later, gentle hands reached for his, prying open mutilated fingers as both watched as the clear, jagged edges were pushed from Livio's skin, the tissue re-knitting and sealing itself. The pain there dissipated. But not the rest.

Letting his fingers disentangle themselves from his hair, Livio wiped his eyes for what felt like the millionth time today, nearly choking on the words. "Vash, I…I'm—"

Vash held up a hand, cutting Livio off, serious now. "I know, Livio. I know, just…" he managed a smile, "just gimme a minute. OK?"

He hesitated…and then nodded his assent.

"OK. Now, I need you to understand something," Vash said, eyeing Livio with the utmost gravity. "What you're feeling now isn't unique to just you. But what _is_ unique," he continued, "is being able to deal with it—to make something _good_ out of it."

Livio hesitated. "But…"

"Alright, then, let me put it to you this way: What do you think he would say if saw you like this?"

Livio was stunned for a moment, shocked by the suddenness of the question even though he knew they'd been talking about him the whole time. He hadn't expected it. And oddly enough…he knew the answer.

"He'd say…" Livio took a deep breath. "He'd say that I need to quit crying. That I need to get off my ass and do something. And that…that I'm insulting his memory by wallowing like this…"

"And then," Vash added, his eyes glistening, "he'd probably punch us. And tell us we're idiots. He always was abusive," Vash muttered under his breath.

"I think he'd hurt me more, though." _And I'd deserve it._ "I…I made her cry."

"Then." Vash looked at him. "Don't make her cry anymore."

Vash said it as though it was the simplest thing in the world, and Livio had the distinct feeling that he wasn't just talking about her. No, Vash was asking him again, in his own way. The first time, Livio hadn't committed either way. He was still adjusting, still trying to find his way in a world he had only just now returned to…as well as how to deal with everything he'd done. But maybe…maybe this way, he could…

His mouth curled slightly—conflicted, but nonetheless there.

"I won't."

* * *

"You won't?" 

Vash glowered at Livio, a finger pointed at the other's face, nearly sticking it up his nose. 'Thash righ'!"

"Eh?" Livio blinked, ignoring the drunken gunman's protests as he helped him off the stool and towards the door. "I don' get it…"

"You cheeeeeeated!"

Several hours and quite a few more drinks later, Livio stumbled out of the bar, Vash's arm draped over his shoulder. Livio wasn't that bad off, but Vash looked about ready to keel over, his speech slurring. _At least I can still understand what the guy's saying…_

"I wha?"

"You heard meh," Vash declared, his feet dragging.

Livio's eyes widened with sudden understanding as he helped Vash through the streets. "Ohhh. You mean th' game?"

It had been a test of endurance: Who could drink the most shots the fastest without keeling over? (Livio had won.)

"Yeeeeeeeeeah! You cheeeeated!"

"M'sorry, m'sorry!" Livio said hastily, his muddled thoughts already clearing. "Can't help it…"

"Nah." Vash waved a hand. "S'ok, brother. Ish handy, tha' inschtant nose-bleed-schtopper-upper thing ya got there."

"Ahahaha, thanks…"

"Ish too bad yer scared a' girls."

"Wha?!" Livio squawed. "Am not!"

"Are too!" Vash countered. "I saw th' look on yer face when tha' new bartender lady started eyein' you." His voice took on an almost conspiratorial tone. "That cult a' yers didn' let ya do much, did they?"

Livio shook his head glumly.

"Ah, thash OK!" Vash said sagely, and patted Livio on the back, nearly causing both to topple over in the process. "We'll work on that."

"EH!? But—!"

"No buts. I know what I'ma talkin' 'bout," Vash declared, nodding to himself.

They squabbled a little more as they shuffled on together, pleasantly numbed by alcohol as they stared vacantly ahead. It was nice, this aimless wandering, no matter what the scenery. There was a sense of weightlessness—temporary, but welcome just the same. And somehow, that was all Livio needed.

"Vash?"

"Myeah?"

"I just…I mean—"

Before he could finish, however, there was a blinding flash of light off in the distance, illuminating a small portion of the blackened sky. Livio blinked, staring at it, even as his companion tensed next to him, the brilliance fading stubbornly into nothingness. _That light…_

It had been faint, barely evident against the invisible horizon, indicating that it had been a fair distance away. It puzzled him, though, because if the origin had been that far from this last refuge, what could have done it? It didn't make any sense.

Livio shook his head, clearing away the residual effects of his drinking spree. Vash exhaled audibly, still leaning heavily against him as he rubbed his eyes. All pretension of being a happy idiot had disappeared, and Livio could only guess what he was thinking about. He needed to know for sure, though…

"What the hell was that?" he asked tentatively.

"…it's him."

Livio understood implicitly what that meant, his mouth suddenly dry. "How long?"

"Twelve hours at most," Vash murmured, and pushed away from Livio, staggering as he managed to stand on his own. "I need to warn Luida…give the others time to prepare…" He paused. "You coming?"

_I could, but…_

"No." Livio smiled faintly. "I think I'll wait on the outskirts of town. By the cliffs."

Vash nodded once. "Right. I'll meet you there as soon as I can, then."

As Vash turned to walk away, Livio hesitated, and then called out one more time. "HEY! VASH!"

The Plant paused mid-step. "Yeah?"

"…thanks."

Vash smiled. "Chin up, brother."

The red coat flapped as he turned, his strides lengthening as shadows shortened, the suns beginning to peek over the horizon. Livio watched until Vash's tall, lanky form had disappeared before turning away, just thinking—remembering days long gone and wondering at the ones to come. And it was only now—as the suns slowly climbed and began their journey across the sky—that he understood.

_They're worth it…

* * *

_

Reviews? -puppy dog eyes- Please?


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